


Time Won’t Be Enough ( To Make You Fall In Love With Me )

by cheesehunter



Series: Keep You Warm And Not Ask You Where You’ve Been [1]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: (it’s a sad fic u guys in case u couldn’t tell), Alcohol Abuse, Angst, Caretaking kinda, Comfort, Coming Back Together, Drama, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Peterick, Petetrick - Freeform, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-16 10:25:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12340824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheesehunter/pseuds/cheesehunter
Summary: You can have big fights with everyone, including your soulmate, and when both of you are too stubborn to say sorry.. You end up hurting each other even more.It was like a hiatus, like a time out, and then they needed each other just as bad. They needed each other’s touch, they needed each other’s softest words. They craved the familiarity, the gentleness..Pete missed Patrick, and Patrick did too, sometimes.Luckily there’s Andy to save the day, right?// hi, i’m probably not going to continue this fic and i really hate uncontinued fics so i might delete it but idk yet but yeah basically, not that anyone wanted one but there will not be a sequel, i do have chapter 4 but idk if i wanna publish it, this is shit, i hate it,, yea





	1. Lost It All

Both would always remember that night. How to forget it? This wasn’t what marriage was supposed to be. Marriage was supposed to be laughing at silly things at three am and sucking each other’s dick. Marriage was supposed to be waking up to kisses and cuddles, waking up to pancakes and the smell of coffee. Marriage was supposed to mean happy and warm with the person you love the most. Marriage was supposed to be like this delicious candy you never get tired of, but watching Pete standing right in front of him with those wide brown, betrayed eyes, teary and trembling didn’t rhyme with marriage. 

It was then that Patrick knew, knew they should split. This just wasn’t working like it was supposed to be working. Perhaps he shouldn’t have said those words, but perhaps Pete took it too seriously when Patrick called him a self-pitying, selfish whore that spends all his time moping around. Then again, those /were/ some pretty hurtful words. It didn’t matter, they weren’t in Patrick’s head at that time. 

" Okay. " 

Patrick would always remember that one, damned word, along with the soft, defeated sigh that followed it. He had just yelled at the guy for about twenty minutes straight and this is all he got. Of course, Patrick didn’t see it as an attempt to calm the game, he saw it as a coward’s way of exiting the argument, and he had no trouble expressing his thoughts. 

" Don’t you love me?" Pete had asked then, a hurt nature about his facial expression. As Patrick had provided no answer, and instead of laughing it off or inserting some kind of self-deprecating statement, Pete had simply said. " Why are you hurting me? " In a tone so broken Patrick would remember it even months after, it making him teary-eyed in the same way the sour candy Warheads does, but at that precise moment, Patrick was tasting the sweet part, the twisted part, he had been totally fuckin oblivious to Pete’s obvious signs of despair. 

" I don’t. Not anymore. We’re getting a divorce. " Patrick had said then, and in Pete’s good manner of keeping everything bottled up until he exploded, the older man removed his ring, setting it on the kitchen’s counter and grabbing the stuff he’d packed last time they had an argument like this. 

" No need. Keep the ring. " The bassist had sniffled and sighed, making a dismissive hand gesture. " I hope you can find someone who’s actually worth your love, I guess. "

It’s all Pete said before leaving. He made no fuss, he didn’t go on a guilt trip, he didn’t start full on crying, he just said the most sincere and hurtful words Patrick had ever heard in his whole life, and the other guy had just been left there staring at the door wide open before him. 

It was wide open like his chest, the thing he touched desperately, in search of a gap, a hole, the one Pete left, but there was nothing. His heart was still beating, and as he reached to feel his face, no tears stained his cheeks, the clock was still ticking and life was just the same without Pete in it. 

Except it wasn’t. 

Patrick knew he’d stumbled onto some sort of weird gem from the start, from the moment Pete asked him to drum in his band. He just knew. Not because the guy was a good bassist - he wasn’t, not because he was a good poet - that he was, just because he was a genuinely good person, with a bunch of human flaws. So yeah, sometimes Pete got really fucking annoying with his self-pitying, but Patrick knew it wasn’t on purpose just to annoy him. In fact, Pete totally made it up to him every single time he whined particularly about his looks or stupidity. Pete was considerate, there was no denying it. He knew when he was being annoying, he knew when he was unwanted. 

Patrick had known from the start this guy would steal his heart. It didn’t come as a suprise when they kissed for the first time. A genuine, terrible tasting touring kiss in a small ass bunk. 

And now, now he’d just let that guy walk out the door. 

Scratch that, now he’d just basically told that guy to go. 

Needless to say, Patrick had a pretty bad breakdown after the realization that Pete actually left sunk in. 

****

Patrick was alone. Alone in this bed, alone in this head, alone in this house, alone in life. His best friend was some guy called Jack Daniels, and he visited pretty often. Sometimes, he ‘d just lay on the bed thinking of Pete and how everything was so much better before, how he’d ruined everything. 

How Pete would come back from a long day at work with a box of sweets to make Patrick feel better whenever the latter was sick and Pete couldn’t stay home. How the guy would stroke his hair for hours if he needed to just to comfort him after a sad movie. How Pete cared so much when it mattered, and Patrick only did when it didn’t. 

How he craved Pete’s tight and warm hugs. 

But those thoughts usually came after more than a few drinks.


	2. My Sweetest Friend

_The road was quiet, smooth, the city lights fading away quick as they got further and further away. It had some kind of symbolic, too, like they were escaping their problems, at 100 kilometers per hour, Bon Jovi blasting in the car’s stereo. It came from an old ass record that was scratched all over. They’d listened to it so much they knew where the scratches were and would simply sing it as it played, instead of like the studio version sounded. It conveyed some kind of warm feeling, a feeling of home and belonging. Patrick couldn’t dream of a better way to spend the weekend, and well, Pete could think of a few ways to spice it up. Promise only one of them was somehow related to ropes, whips and all that weird, kinky shit._

_It was raining outside, but it didn’t really affect the two lovebird’s bubbly mood. They kept talking, laughing, making the sweetest memories, unknowing of what was to come._

_Pete was messing around, one hand on the wheel and the other knocking Patrick’s hat off._

_“ Cut it. I fucking hate you.” Patrick joked, a wide smile on his lips and then immediately adding “ I’m kidding, you know I love you. “_

_“ I know. “ The other man replied, smiling just as wide._

_Except the next time those words were mentionned, Pete wasn’t so sure they were insincere._

_This is why Patrick always specified that it was a joke. Neither of them had the greatest self-esteems and these jokes always ended up pretty badly. Except none of them had planned it would end so badly._

****

Karma’s a bitch, Pete thought as he looked at the huge coffee stain on his shirt. His face was already messed up, he didn’t need his clothes to be too. No, but, apart from the way he was born, his face was messed up because he’d gotten in a fight. Yeah, okay, he knew he’d lose, the guy was like 6 something, and well, Pete didn’t even get to 5’5. So maybe he’d done that to get hurt. What’s it to you? Why would you care?

That’s the fucking point. While he was getting beat, one person cared about his miserable life. Oh, and when he walked home, dripping blood from his nose. Yeah, people were suckers for drama. Hey, Pete never complained about getting attention. He wanted to matter.

He wanted to be convinced Patrick would never find better, to be the fucking best the guy would never have again. Other days, he just wanted to let go of all grudges and beg for Patrick back.

The bassist hated to admit the vocalist was his 11:11 wish almost every day.

For the record, Wentz had messed up too while they were married, Stump just seemed to never see it. Or purposefully ignore it, perhaps. Whatever it was, Pete was usually the one apologizing, but never verbally. Maybe that was his biggest flaw. He simply couldn’t bring himself to admit he’d messed up. The black-haired male just had this arrogance within that forced him to always want to be right.

Of course, he wasn’t.

Yeah, karma’s a bitch, the things you get for not apologizing, right?

Anyway, the guy peeled off his coffee-stained shirt, continuing his ranting to Andy. “ But then she was like, oh, mygod, you’re _THE_ Pete Wentz, so I’m like, yeah?? And she’s like, oh, you’re gay, and I’m like, no, I’m bi. Anyway, she didn’t kiss me. “

Just because Pete’s heartbroken as fuck won’t stop him from going to parties and kissing random strangers when playing spin the bottle or seven minutes in heaven. It actually made him think of something else than Patrick for a few hours and it felt good, since the rest of his life was basically dedicated to crying over their failed marriage.

Andy just chuckled and shook his head, “ Not everyone _has_ to want to kiss you, Pete. “

“ Yes. They. Do. Andy can’t you see I’m very fucking kissable? Like look at me, I’m cute, sexy, single like a pringle and definitely ready to fucking mingle, goddamnit. “ Pete defended fiercely, pouting.

“ Get over yourself, man, you’re really _not_ that different from every other fuckboy. “ Andy was joking, but from the looks on Pete’s face, that struck close to home.

Suddenly he wasn’t smiling anymore, he nodded. “ I know, Patrick made it pretty clear. “

“ Okay, you know what, Pete, we’re gonna watch the fucking Emoji movie, and you’re going to unironically enjoy it. “ Andy said in reply, throwing Pete over his shoulder and carrying him to the couch. Pete was kickin’ and punchin’, but Andy didn’t budge so he had to suck it up... and the crossfit guy was right, Pete actually enjoyed the Emoji movie because it was _such_ a meme.

Andy honestly acted a bit like a mother, sometimes it was awkward and weird but Pete kind of needed someone to act that way when he was in these moods. He needed someone to take care of him even in the most basic aspects of his life, and the drummer did a great job at that. It was totally platonnic, of course, because Hurley was into, well, fuller chests.

When I say basic aspects, I mean **basic** aspects, because when Patrick’s ex-husband got blue, he’d become the gloomiest motherfucker. Stay in bed for like, days? If no one got him out of bed, he could probably sleep through the rest of his life. He didn’t eat, didn’t even get up to drink water, just to go to the bathroom and even then he wouldn’t even turn on the lights because he hated his reflection so much on those days.

And Andy helped, oh did Andy help, the vegan guy had a copy of the keys (it was that bad) and if Pete hadn’t texted him for more than two weleks ( Wentz was one clingy fucker ) he’d bolt in and drag him out of bed, push him into the shower, force feed him, talk to him, make things better in every way he could.

Pete was incredibly grateful for Andy.


	3. You Want A War, You’ll Have A War

Patrick usually appreciates Andy a lot, but right now, he wanted to behead him personally. He really couldn’t fucking believe the guy had set him and Pete Wentz, of all people up. Of course, Andy had made sure the guy was sober, forced him to get dressed and commented heavily on how it wasn’t healthy for him to live this way. Patrick knew, he knew this wasn’t healthy, he didn’t need anyone to tell him. He did it on purpose because it was /not/ healthy. His life was fucking pointless, but he was too much of a pussy to end it, so he simply drifted through it drunkenly, hoping the people who truly mattered didn’t notice. This wasn’t Pete’s fault, this wasn’t anyone but his fault. Patrick had gotten these thoughts ever since his teenage years, but his ex-husband often made things better.

Together (Wentz had convinced him it was mostly Patrick’s effort), they’d gotten pretty far from the self-loathing, insecure teenager Patrick was, yet now he’d gotten back to pretty much that, not to mention he still felt guilty about the words he’d said. No amount of alcohol in his system could help him forget those.

Patrick was wearing a white dress shirt, his hair was up with hairspray, tiny leather-ish gloves on his hands. He looked good, Andy had said so himself as he pushed the guy out of the apartment. Hey, for the record, Patrick did /not/ agree to meeting Pete Wentz in the fucking movie theatre, alright? Andy just told him they were going to see a movie and Patrick said no. Thirty minutes later, they were at the movies, and the blond wasn’t complaining, quietly shoving popcorn down his own throat, the smallest smile on his lips. And then he saw him, Pete fuckin Wentz. Naturally, Andy, who’d lied about going to the bathroom, had him to sit beside Patrick and then actually left, trying to force them to work things out.

Patrick's eyes met Pete's and he had that moment of ' is this for fucking real?! '. When Pete shakily sat down, keeping both his gaze and his hands away from Patrick, he knew it was. It was a very Pete thing to do.

" Uh... Hi. " The vocalist said, a hint of shyness in his voice.

" H-Hey. " Pete stuttered in response.

The whole interaction with Patrick intimidated him a lot, because he could feel his blood boiling in his veins at the thought of all the nasty things Patrick had said, but at the same time, he knew he deserved those words. They were nothing but the truth.

“ Hi. Long time no see. How are you? “ The vocalist asked, and his business-like tone simply annoyed Pete. He wasn’t some kind of... Casual affair, hook up or whatever. He was this guy’s... this guy’s..

This guy’s nothing. Pete sighed softly.

“ I’m, uh, I’m alive. How about you? “ He tried imitating the strawberry blond’s tone, but it failed as his voice cracked slightly.

“ I’m doing great, thanks.”

Patrick stayed polite in all situations, but this felt an awful lot like sarcasm. He had to try one last thing to strike a conversation.

" I'm sorry for being a-a selfish whore..and self-pitying and all that. “ Patrick’s heart really fucking hurt at those words, guilt blooming in his chest, re-opening the scars, but he needed to stay strong, to stay unphazed.

Maybe if he did, Pete would just give up and move onto the next.

He hoped so, because Patrick didn’t deserve Pete.

He didn’t deserve anyone.

He deserved to die in a ditch.

What Pete’s reaction would be if he’d heard Patrick’s thoughts was exactly why Patrick didn’t deserve him. He would have cared. He would have stayed up all night if necessary, to talk him out of it. He would have stayed up all night, even if Patrick had basically ended their marriage with the meanest words and unfounded accusations you can think of, and Patrick couldn’t stand that. The vocalist couldn’t accept, couldn’t let Pete overlook his person, disregard any damage done to himself to look after the people who’d hurt him.

“ You’re doing it again. “

“ Doing what again?”

Without ripping his eyes from the screen, Patrick replied simply “ Feeling sorry for yourself. “ This was actually breaking his heart.

He heard the guy get up and leave. Again. Good for him.

Patrick tried to convince himself it was better off this way. Truth is, it was probably more logic off this way. Two guys that can’t work it out together, away from each other. Peace, right?

Not when the two guys love each other still.

It isn’t necessary to specify that that night they both did the same thing; cry themselves to sleep to the thought of what they’d lost. Patrick thought back to today. What would’ve happened if he’d just carried the conversation normally?

Pete would probably be here with him, keeping him from thinking these things. And then eventually, Patrick would say hurtful things again, get both of them even more hurt. They didn’t need that. They didn’t need each other, they only had the certainty they did.

It wasn’t love, right? Love isn’t real.

Pete told himself so, that love was not real, yet, no matter how pretty was the person he screwed that night, it wasn’t as good as Patrick. It wasn’t as good as /anything/ with Patrick, meaning not necessarily sex, but also just hanging out.

Of course, you can’t really hang out with a hook up unless it’s your fuck friend anyway, so that’s expected.

Shut your eyes, take a deep breath. Everything will be fine. Everything will be okay one day. This isn’t a permanent situation. You’ll have a happy ending. You can do it. Make life your bitch. Breathe. You can do this. Breathe. You can do this.

  
“ I can’t.”

“ I can’t believe you told him that, Patrick-“

“ Shut up Andy. I needed him away from me, don’t you see I fuck everything up? He needs to stay alright. “

“ But he’s not, he’s all the contrary of alright. “

“ Me too, Andy. “


End file.
